


Indelible

by CatKing_Catkin



Series: Tales From Nicodranus Row [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Anxious Caleb Widogast, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Burns, Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Needles, Night Terrors, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, POV Mollymauk Tealeaf, Sharing a Bed, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: Caleb, Astrid, and Eodwulf - young, drunk, and high on life - come into the Fletchling and Moondrop Tattoo Emporium to get one another's names, and the love they hold for each other, tattooed on their skin forever.Caleb is the only one who comes to regret this. And, as his world falls apart around him, he finds himself back in front of that very same tattoo parlor some time later in the hopes of fixing at least one of his many, many mistakes.Molly doesn't understand a lot of what they do next. Maybe it's only because it sucks to be alone, and they can see just how much Caleb understands that in a way no one else ever has. Or maybe it's just because they also got a chance to remake themselves from nothing, and they owe it to the world to pay that kindness forward and help Caleb piece himself back together into something new.





	1. Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coincidental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coincidental/gifts).



> Happy Widomauk exchange. <3

Caleb Widogast and Mollymauk Teaeaf never officially exchanged names, and they met each other twice before they met each other without supervision.

The first time was when Gustav was still in charge of the parlor, and the name over the door – _Fletchling  and Moondrop’s Indelible Ink_ – was a point of pride for Molly and not a bitter reminder. It was late and a fine, silvery rain was falling, little more than a mist that cast a halo around the bright, full moon. It was a time when they tended to do their best business, as drunks and romantics and drunk romantics of all sorts decided on a whim to commemorate the evening with an ill-considered tattoo.

But Gustav had always taken a point of pride in his artistic skill, which could make even the most ill-considered tattoo something you wouldn’t mind carrying forward with you. And Molly was learning fast.

The three who came stumbling into the shop, laughing and talking loudly and clinging with tipsy openness to one another, weren’t so different than their usual clientele on a night like this. They even made a decision to get the one sort of tattoo that Gustav considered unsalvageable – namely, one another’s names.

“No point trying to talk them out of it,” he said easily, as he sat sketching out a few designs in the back while Molly laid out ink samples for him. “People who are bound and determined to get someone’s name inked on them are the ones most likely to get belligerent if you try and talk them out of it. We don’t need that, you and me. Sometimes you just have to let people make their own bad decisions.”

“They might stay together,” Molly mused, laying out three packaged needles beside the ink in preparation.

Gustav snorted in wry amusement, shaking his head. “People who are bound and determined to get someone’s name inked on them are also the ones trying to fight the inevitable however they can. You’ll learn, Molly.”

Molly was well aware that there were a lot of things they still had to learn, and they were forever grateful that they had Gustav here to teach them. “Well, at least when worst comes to worst we might get them back in here for corrections.” Not all at once, hopefully. Molly could still hear them singing drunkenly outside in the waiting area and making a mess of the displays while they waited for their names to be called.

“We probably will, but they’ll be disappointed. Names are impossible to _really_ cover up. You can add in all the color and flourishes you want, but you’ll still see the shape of them underneath.” Gustav stood up from his chair and gathered his things. “Still. Not our problem.”

“Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and dye,” Molly added, grinning. Gustav laughed with gratifying appreciation and patted them on the head, right between the horns, before together they went to deal with their customers.

“Finally!” called the redhead where he was sitting in the other man’s lap. “Feels like you’ve kept us waiting hours, old man!”

Molly flipped him off behind Gustav’s back. Gustav, as always, remained unruffled. “Good things come to those who wait, my boy,” he said, and beckoned them all over to the counter.

Molly hung back, observing as usual. They had yet to actually ink any flesh besides their own, though they were quite proud of their own handiwork so far. But they sat back and watched as Gustav laid out the possible designs for the three customers, watched the three banter back and forth about their choices before settling on one, and then watched them haggle over the price a while longer. It probably wasn’t so surprising that the three were trying to be cheap. They’d probably burned all their pocket money on booze earlier tonight. The redhead – who his friends identified as “Caleb” – proved especially stubborn even in his inebriated state, so much so that Gustav eventually let himself be talked down solely for the sake of getting on with things. Molly would have been impressed if he hadn’t been offended on their father’s behalf.

And maybe it was that offense that led to them getting rather carried away with themself. They heard their own voice speaking as if it was someone else. “If you lot are in such a hurry to get on with your night, why don’t I handle one of you myself?”

By the time they realized fully just what they were saying, it was too late, the offer was out and made, and also everyone was _staring at them_ , even Gustav. Molly folded their arms across their chest and stubbornly refused to look as hesitant as they suddenly felt. Besides, the offer was made less out of concern for their three customers and more out of concern for Gustav and his few non-grey hairs. Two of them could work faster than one, and thus get these three out of their hair all the sooner.

Gustav must have realized it, too – Molly saw the way his lips quirked up in a faint smile, one that always made their chest go warm with pride. “I think that’s a fine idea, Molly,” he said, turning back to the three. “Why don’t you handle Mr. Widogast here?”

Caleb raised a dubious eyebrow. “That one is your apprentice, _ja_? I don’t want an amateur coming near me with a needle.”

Gustav hadn’t introduced Molly as a trainee, which meant that Caleb must have put the pieces together entirely on his own. Yet again, Molly was impressed, and yet again he was even more determined to prove himself – not just to Gustav, but to this man with the blue eyes that seemed to stare straight through him.

“I wouldn’t do to anyone what I’m not willing to do to myself first,” they said, meeting his gaze levelly, refusing to be cowed. There was still so much they had to learn about the world, so much they were uncertain of, but art was not one of them. Molly rolled up their sleeve, tugged down the neck of their shirt, even pulled up the hem to show off the tattoos gracing their body. “Did most of these myself. Just needed Gustav to help with the face.” They traced their fingers over the peacock feather curling up their cheek and down their neck – their first one, the only one done entirely by Gustav’s hand, and their favorite for it.

Caleb’s eyes roamed over the art on display. Molly liked to think that they’d gotten good at reading people, given the wide variety of them that tended to come into the store. This time, when the man raised an eyebrow, Molly was more than certain it was because he was impressed. They grinned and settled their shirt back into place.

“Of course, technically speaking, this’ll be Molly’s first time handling a customer,” Gustav added smoothly. “But everyone’s got to start somewhere. Everyone needs the chance to grow. I’d think that wizards such as you three would appreciate that especially.”

The girl – Astrid – made a dubious sound. The other man – Edowulf – actually rolled his eyes. But Caleb nodded slowly, his deep blue eyes fixed on Molly, and after a moment’s consideration he grinned a wolfish grin.

“I suppose that’s true enough,” he said. “Well, Mister Molly, I suppose I am in your hands.” He got up to follow Molly to a work chair. As Molly sat down to unwrap a needle, Caleb leaned close and murmured in a voice that made a jolt go down their spine. “Just remember what I can do to you if you make me regret this.”

That threat shouldn’t have sounded half as exciting as it did, what was _wrong_ with them. Yet Molly was proud of themself that their hands barely shook. The act of prepping a needle was too familiar by now. They just could not dwell on the fact that it was someone else’s skin they were marking forever now. “What if I make you appreciate this?”

This time, the impressed look on Caleb’s face was weighed with a gratifying amount of consideration. And yet, Molly wasn’t surprised when his gaze wound up sliding right on back to Astrid and Edowulf. Really, that was nice to see on its own. Molly liked seeing happy people, people in love.

Despite Gustav’s hesitation, they hoped things would work out for these wizards.

“I think a generous tip can be arranged,” was all Caleb said in the end, as he settled down in his chair and pulled his shirt up.

For all their nerves, their first tattooing of a customer passed quite easily. It helped that a name was hard to fuck up, even with the flourishes Gustav had added to make the design stand out. Caleb was surprisingly stoic despite having never taken a needle before and despite everything about him screaming “drunk yuppie trust fund kid”. But he barely winced at the first prick of the needle, and chatted easily back and forth to his boyfriend and girlfriend as if a trainee tiefling wasn’t drawing indelible lines beneath his skin.

And when the work was done, a scant couple of hours later, Caleb regarded the design as Molly held up the mirror, nodded in what Molly understood to be approval, and left a generous tip as promised on his way out the door.

Judging from Gustav’s grumbling that Molly overheard, he was the only one of the three who had.

*  *  *

Things were good for a little while, after that. Molly was slowly allowed to take on more customers, administer more and more elaborate designs. They were good at the work, they took pride in it, and finally started to feel like they were making a place for themself in the world instead of borrowing Gustav’s.

Then the police arrived at their door late one night to take Gustav away.

The worst part wasn’t that it happened. The worst part was how Gustav didn’t fight it. How Molly heard secondhand that he’d pleaded guilty to all the charges read out to him. How _fast_ life as they’d known it came to an end and left them alone.

No, that wasn’t quite true.

The _very worst_ part of it all was that Gustav didn’t explain any of it. He apologized, invited Molly’s anger and scorn, but Molly didn’t _want_ to be angry, Molly wanted an explanation, but Gustav apparently feared that most of all.

“If you need to sell the shop, I understand,” Gustav said, the last time they’d seen one another on either sides of bulletproof glass. “I thought this might be coming, so I took care of the paperwork and the important things are in your name as well as mine. It should set you up well for a while. You can figure something else out. Maybe stay with Orna, start over with her.”

Molly reached up unconsciously to run their fingers over one of the chains dangling between ear and horn. Like their ink, they’d done those piercings themself, though under Orna’s guidance instead of Gustav’s. “I don’t _want_ to start over,” they said, their voice shaking, upset, betraying everything. “I want things the way they’ve _been_.”

Damn him, but their father smiled in the most infinitely patient and total understanding that Molly had ever seen. “I know,” he said. “But sometimes that isn’t how it works, Molly. You don’t have a past to catch up with you, yet. I pray you never do.”

And that was such an utterly useless answer that fixed absolutely nothing, and the anger Molly was nursing in their heart when they left stayed burning in their heart for so long that it meant they stayed home from Gustav’s sentencing hearing out of spite.

Then they heard how long he’d be gone for, and overwhelming regret drove them to drink so much that they didn’t remember the next three days. When they came back to their senses, Yasha was there and had whipped the loft back into shape.

She always had a way of turning up when she was needed. Molly had always wished that she didn’t have to leave, but being there when she was needed counted for so much then. And she didn’t judge them when they broke down sobbing in her arms, as the fear and reality of being _alone_ finally, truly hit them.

It didn’t fade after a long cry, but losing the weight of those tears gave Molly the strength to open the shop back up the next day.

It was a little distressing how smoothly that went, how _ready_ they were to handle things without Gustav. He really had taught them well, prepared them for all the steps needed to give a good tattoo. They weren’t much good at handling the books, that was true, but he hadn’t been either. It was enough to keep them afloat. It was enough to let them keep going as if Gustav had never been there at all.

So the break in their hastily reconstructed routine was welcome, all things considered, though it certainly didn’t feel that way at the time. It came as a rainy summer turned into a cold winter, with piles of grey and black sludge perpetually piled high on the sidewalks of Nicodranus Row. 

One of the things they’d had to deal with themselves now was the asshole customers, including the ones who came swanning in five minutes before closing expecting a full workup. The night things changed had been a particularly long day with two arguments that Molly had won but wished hadn’t happened at all. So when the bell over the door rang just as they were starting to count the till, they looked up at the door with a scowl. “I know we’re not _technically_ closed yet, but—”

Caleb Widogast stared back at them with wide, wary eyes, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming train.

Molly might not have recognized him but for those deep blue eyes. Gone was the polished, perfect, confident wizard of months ago. The man was pale and worn, now, dressed in clearly scavenged rags. His hair was a tangled mane, his beard had grown out, and he was only able to meet Molly’s gaze for a moment before his fell to his fingers, twisting anxiously before him.

“M-My apologies,” he stammered. “I just, ah, _bitte_ , I could not get away until now.” His gaze finally refocused on the clock over Molly’s head and he went, if possible, even paler. “I am sorry, I didn’t see it had gotten so late.”

“It’s all right,” Molly said, coming around the counter to greet him at the door. And it _was_ all right, because it was clear to them all of a sudden that he wasn’t having the worst evening in the room. Caleb flinched when they locked the door, a sight that went straight to their heart. He didn’t resist when Molly took him by the shoulders and steered him to a chair. They weren’t sure if that was encouraging or not, and settled for being grateful to get him off his feet.

Molly didn’t take their usual seat just yet. “Do you want some tea?” they asked instead.

Caleb blinked, looking surprised at the question, even staring up at them in dumbfounded silence for a moment before looking around, apparently for the kettle. “Ah…”

“Upstairs,” Molly said, pointing at the ceiling. “I can bring some down.”

This got a slow, wary nod out of the man. “…please,” he answered, still sounding faintly disbelieving, as if this was some miraculous turn of good fortune. Molly let the ache in their heart quicken their steps upstairs.

They almost expected Caleb to be gone when they returned with two steaming mugs of tea. But he was still there, right where he’d been left, staring at the wall coated in Molly and Gustav’s old work and clearly taking in none of it. When Molly set the mug down on the table in front of him, he flinched like he’d forgotten where he was, and then took up the cup like he was afraid it was going to be taken away from him. Molly was glad they’d thought not to fill it up too much – the shaking in the other man’s hands would have sent it spilling everywhere otherwise. But he took a sip, and then took another, and Molly distinctly heard him let out a soft sigh of relief as the tea hit his throat and warmed his chest.

“So,” they said, sitting down across from Caleb, warming their hands with the mug as well and letting the smell sharpen their senses even before they took a sip. “What can I do for you?”

Caleb flushed a very faint shade of pink, in what seemed to be embarrassment, maybe even humiliation. “I am sorry to ask this,” he said. “You probably don’t even remember. But, ah, you did some work for me, some time ago. Some—”

“Some names,” Molly said easily. “I remember.” They offered Caleb a lopsided smile and a half-hearted toast. “What’s that they say? You never forget your first time?”

Caleb’s blush went even deeper. It was nice to see some color coming back into his cheeks, at least, no matter how it was happening. “I suppose so. Then I am, um, I am particularly sorry to ask, but—”

“You need them covered up?”

He stared fixedly down at his tea, his knuckles going white from how tightly he was holding on, and finally managed to nod like it was the hardest thing in the world. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” Molly said. And maybe it was crossing a line, what they did next, but they reached out to cover his hand with one of theirs’ for just a moment, squeezing gently. Caleb looked so wounded and lost and scared in that moment that they had to reach out somehow. “The way I see it, you bought and paid for that art, you can do whatever you want with it.” They smiled and tilted their head just slightly, letting a few of the chains and studs in their horns catch the light to emphasize their next point. “It’s your skin, and you can do whatever you want with it. But, speaking as a professional, you might want to get those names removed properly first. I’ll be happy to cover up any scars left behind. I can do some good work there. But if I try to cover up the names, you’ll either get just the ugliest blob of color or you’ll still be able to see the shape of them underneath. And I don’t think you want any of that.”

Caleb had managed to meet Molly’s gaze while they were speaking, seemingly fascinated. But at the mention of the tattoo removal procedure, his gaze fell once more, and he fidgeted in his seat a little. “I don’t,” he whispered. “But that procedure, I assume it is expensive. And I don’t--” He took another hasty sip of tea. “I can’t afford much, right now.”

Molly didn’t try to press that point or offer any additional solutions. It was clear to them that Caleb couldn’t afford much right now. There were other options, but none of them were pretty. And yet, given how much having those names inked on his flesh was distressing him, they couldn’t discount the idea that Caleb might turn to those ugly options instead.

No, they couldn’t have that. Molly wouldn’t have it on their conscience that they’d left a scared, wounded man to take a knife to his flesh. “I’ll do what I can,” they said gently, and the relieved smile on Caleb’s face seemed to light up the room. “Listen, why don’t you give me tomorrow to think over a design? Come back around about this time and I’ll show you what I’ve come up with.”

“I will,” Caleb said, looking as if Molly had just promised him the moon. He got to his feet and reached out to shake Molly’s hand with both of his. “I will. Thank you, _Herr_ Tealeaf.”

“It’s Molly, please,” they answered with a smile. Caleb actually managed to smile back.

He turned as if to leave, then, but Molly reached out with their foot to nudge his chair against him once more. “Oy, finish your tea. It’s bloody cold out there, you look like you need it.” Craning their head, they tried to see out the shop windows, trying to see what transportation he’d taken here. They saw nothing, and their heart felt as if it skipped a beat in dread. “Did you _walk_?”

“And if I did?” Caleb answered, looking suddenly, mulishly stubborn. “It is not so far from there to here.”

“I would like to reiterate my earlier point that it’s _bloody_ cold out. You keep drinking, Mister Caleb. Let me handle this.” They glowered sternly at him to make sure he knew they meant it, then went rummaging in their pocket for their phone. “Is there someone I can call to come and get you?”

This time, Caleb didn’t go stubborn and Caleb didn’t play tough. Molly was used to both, when they got a drunk customer in late at night. They’d always offer to call a ride before they offered to pull out a needle.

But Caleb did neither. Caleb simply went pale, all the newfound color draining from his face once more. He stared at the tabletop between them, seeing nothing, his glassy gaze simply reflecting the light of some distant horror that Molly could not possibly have comprehended if they’d lived another twenty years.

“There’s no one,” Caleb said at last, very quietly, as if the full weight of those words were only just starting to sink in. “There is no one to call.” He took a shaky breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and despite his visible efforts to hold them back, Molly was horrified to see tears gathering there.

It was perhaps a very foolish thing that they said next. But they also knew it was the only possible right answer.

“There is _now_.”


	2. High Hopes

They got to their feet and held out a hand. Caleb stared from it to them and back again and then, like a man balanced over an abyss who only saw one way forward, he reached out to tangle their fingers together. He was so shocked, and so slow as a result, that he didn’t seem to realize Molly’s intentions until they’d dragged him halfway up the stairs to the apartment.

“W-Wait,” Caleb stammered, as they got the key in the lock. “This isn’t, er, you can’t—”

Molly didn’t realize a possible source of his hesitation until they’d already gotten the door open. Then they winced, glancing back. “I’m not _expecting_ anything out of you,” they said, trying to sound gentle rather than offended at the very idea. He had no reason to know what they were expecting, after all. Especially with as worn and scared as he looked, it was only sensible to be suspicious. “I’ve just got a bed I’m not using. And if you don’t believe me, it’s got a door you can lock.”

They saw a little bit of his fear ease, though confusion rose to take its place. “Then _why_ are you…you don’t know me, I might do anything, be anyone. I could--” His indrawn breath was edged with a whimper and his grip tightened reflexively on Molly’s hand. “I could hurt you.”

“I could hurt you, too.” But they kept their voice gentle as they drew him inside. Despite his understandable hesitations, Caleb let himself be led without resistance. He simply gazed around, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as if Molly’s cozy, hodgepodge apartment that still bore too many reminders of Gustav was as good as a palace. “I’m not going to, but I could. You could, but I don’t think you’re going to.” Acting on a wild whim, buoyed up by the beautiful recklessness of what they were doing, Molly leaned close enough to plant a solid kiss to Caleb’s forehead, then drew back to wink at him. “We’ll just both have to hope we’re telling the truth, won’t we?”

It was perhaps a poor joke, under the circumstances, but Caleb seemed to appreciate the efforts even more than Molly had thought he would. “ _Ja_. I suppose.”

Molly got him bundled into the shower, laid out some clothes for him – too big, but clean and warm. Then they finally, finally changed the sheets on Gustav’s bed. Hopefully Caleb was still too out of it to realize that there was still only the one bed in the apartment. Molly wasn’t in the mood to fight with him on that point. They’d always slept on the fold out couch since Gustav had taken them in, and they were fine to keep it that way. They wouldn’t have known what to do with a bed in the first place.

Sure enough, Caleb was swaying a little when he came out of the shower, steam billowing out behind him, his hair plastered flat to his head and halfway down his shoulderblades. Molly went to draw an arm around their shoulders and help him along. He slumped against them gratefully in turn, apparently more focused on a stray thread at the shirt’s hem than in trying to coordinate his feet.

“These clothes…” he murmured, glancing from Molly to the larger, plainer shirt and back again. Even as weary as he was, Molly could see two and two coming together to get at least three and a half. “There was, ah, there was another man when I came here last—”

“There was,” Molly said, cutting him off gently but firmly. They took a shaking breath and then shook their head. “And now there isn’t. And I’d prefer we left it at that.”

Caleb closed his mouth and, after only a moment’s consideration, he nodded and did indeed leave it at that.

Molly wondered for a moment if this was love, or just overwhelming, dizzying relief.

In putting the pieces together, Caleb had probably realized that there was only one bed in the apartment and also why Molly wouldn’t be terribly inclined to sleep in it. So he let himself be settled down and tucked in without complaint or posturing. When Molly turned away, they felt his fingers fumbling at their wrist, and they paused to look back.

Caleb lifted his head from where he’d buried it in his pillow just enough to regard them with one half-open eye. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and a deeper, darker exhaustion. “I will pay you back for this. I swear it.”

Molly reached up to hold his hand in theirs’ for a moment, squeezing once. Then they gently disentangled his fingers and guided his hand back down onto the bed. “Not if I have anything to say about it, you won’t,” they answered back, just as quietly. This time, there was nothing teasing about the way they smoothed back his damp hair to kiss his forehead. This time, he didn’t blush, he only smiled, his eyes falling closed once more.

Their guest was snoring by the time Molly closed the door behind them.

Having a presence in the bedroom, even if it was the wrong one, was still inexplicably, utterly soothing. Molly slept well for the first time since Yasha had left again.

The next day was surprisingly normal. Caleb was still deeply asleep when Molly woke up, and stayed asleep as Molly lingered in the bedroom doorway to stare at him for a few minutes and reassure themself that last night had, indeed, happened. But since last night had happened, it meant they had another mouth to feed, and so it was even more important that they get the shop open on time. So they made Caleb a sandwich for breakfast, left it in the fridge along with a note where he’d be likely to find it, and went downstairs with a cup of coffee to see him through the first few hours.

Fjord stopped by so that Molly could check up on his latest tattoo. Caduceus poked his head in to ask directions to the pier, again. Molly had never known someone so prone to getting lost, but he also grew interesting mushrooms and had somehow found a way to keep bees on a balcony whose honey he was happy to give away for free. So it wasn’t as if they begrudged him the time.

Nott came around just after lunch to drop off a few…things, things that even Gustav would have disapproved if he’d known Molly was partaking of but Gustav wasn’t _here_ and so Molly thought they could be forgiven a few more vices.

Caleb came downstairs as Molly was counting out money for her. They both flinched at the sound of the stairs creaking, looking round to stare at the source of the noise. Caleb immediately froze, halfway down the steps – not unreasonably, perhaps, given that he’d suddenly found himself pinned by equally inhuman yellow and red eyes. But then, as Molly’s shock faded, they grinned up at him and inclined their head to Nott. “He’s all right.”

Nott nodded and uncurled her fingers so that Molly could keep counting out change. “Who is he?” she asked.

“He’s a friend.” Molly glanced back at Caleb as he crept anxiously closer to them. “Nott, this is Caleb. Caleb, Nott.”

 _“Hallo_ ,” said Caleb, staring at her warily. But, to Molly and probably Nott’s equal surprise, he did not flinch when she flashed him her widest, toothiest smile. He even smiled back, lopsided and tired but to all appearances genuine. Nott’s gaze, meanwhile, slid to meet Molly’ and she raised a considering eyebrow. They even thought they saw her biting back a smile of her own in turn.

Caleb turned his attention back to Molly as well. They saw that he had changed out of Gustav’s clothes and back into his own – Molly had been too tired to toss them in the countertop washer last night. “Thank you for letting me sleep,” he said. “And thank you for letting me stay at all. But I, ah, I should be going now.”

“Should you?” Molly asked, angling themself to put themself between Caleb and the door. “I don’t remember kicking you out.”

His cheeks went pink and his jaw got that already-familiar note of stubbornness to it. “I cannot keep sleeping in your bed, Mollymauk.”

“Why not? I’m not using it.”

But already, they could see that having this conversation in front of Nott was making him uncomfortable. So Molly felt their hackles settle, and they tried to make their voice gentler as they added: “Honestly, what difference is a day going to make? You’re not going to eat me out of house and home in a day. You might as well stay, since you’re waiting on art from me anyway.”

The mention of the tattoo design he had waiting seemed to sway Caleb in a way no appeal to his health had. He worried at his lower lip, staring at his feet, but finally nodded. “All right. Can I at least do something to help? Sweep or scrub, or, or something?”

“I’ve got everything just how I like it, and I may not keep a clean house but I run a clean shop.” Molly actually took hold of Caleb’s shoulders to steer him back towards the stairs. “Go. Shoo. Bed.”

Caleb dug in his heels this time, trying to protest, and Molly might have kept arguing with him but the door over the bell chose that moment to ring. They bit back a sigh of frustration, before turning to greet their customer with a smile. As they did so, Nott slipped by them to take Caleb’s elbow. “I’ll get him back to bed, Molly,” she whispered, giving Caleb a much more solid tug towards the stairs. “Come on, you.”

“You have a key?” they heard Caleb ask.

“No!” Molly and Nott answered in the same breath.

But their heart had been set at ease as they went to get their client settled in. Nott would take care of Caleb. She had a soft heart buried under all those fangs and claws, and Molly had known from the second she’d seen Caleb Widogast smile at her that she wouldn’t rest until he’d been pieced back together.

It really was nice to have help.

And, when they came back upstairs at the end of the day, it was to find that Caleb and Nott had conspired to offer help in a new and unexpected fashion. Rather than another night of takeout, Molly was confronted with quite a tidy stir-fry, made out of leftovers in the fridge they had entirely forgotten about. The wok was half-empty; ideally, hopefully, that meant Caleb and Nott had taken their share. There was no actual sign of Nott in the apartment, but their window latch was open and so that answered that. Caleb, meanwhile, had gone back to sleep, apparently so tired that he hadn’t even bothered to close the door.

Chastising themself for being so deeply, desperately lonely that just the sight of someone else was a balm to their soul, Molly nevertheless gave themself a minute to linger there in the doorway and watch him sleep. Now that the _strangeness_ of this was fading, now that they’d had a day to get used to having someone to _take care of_ , they were remembering their promise. They couldn’t delay in it just because they wanted to keep Caleb out of the cold.

So Molly paused just long enough to eat some stir fry standing at the kitchen counter, then they sprawled out on the couch, pulled their neglected sketchbook towards them, and got to work. Hours passed, empty pages filled, and though tiredness itched at their eyes, their hand seemed to move with a life of its own, guided only by their heart.

But eventually, their head grew too heavy to keep up. Molly didn’t remember when exactly they decided to rest their head for just a minute, but they must have.

Because the next thing they knew was the screaming waking them up with a jolt bad enough to send them falling to the floor with a yelp.

“What in all the seven—” they gasped, staring around, before their eyes lit on the bedroom door and their ears pricked to confirm that yes, yes the noise was absolutely coming from in there. Molly stumbled to their feet and staggered gracelessly over to the door, staring in at the darkened bedroom. Their darkvision let them see that the bed was empty, sheets rumpled. For a wild moment, they feared the worst, thought that Caleb had somehow been attacked or taken…

The next loud _thump_ nearly made them jump out of their skin, muffling a cry of alarm, but it also confirmed for them that no, things hadn’t gotten that bad. In fact, by the time they bounded onto the bed and over it and to the other side of the room, they’d recovered their wits enough to know what they were likely to see.

It was just that they’d never seen this happen except from Caleb’s side of things, so to speak.

But there he was, curled up in the far corner of the room, shaking like a leaf, one hand pressed to his face, wide and wild eyes visible between his fingers. The other hand was held out protectively in front of him, flames dancing around his fingertips.

And all the while, he was screaming, with a terror and pain that cut Molly to the quick. _“Take them out! Get them out!”_ Looking right through them, seeing some inner hell replaying out before him instead.

Molly didn’t remember exactly what Gustav or Yasha had done to help them when they’d last been prone to night terrors, but they remembered how they’d been or what they’d heard coming out of them, and that would have to do for now. They settled down slowly onto their knees in front of him, hands held up with fingers splayed, and started to inch closer. “Caleb,” they said, speaking softly but clearly, hoping to cut through the shouting. “Caleb, it’s okay. You need to wake up. It’s not real.”

They weren’t sure he was hearing them, weren’t sure he was even seeing them and, in desperation, Molly reached out to curl their fingers around his upper arm, hoping to avoid the flames. Unfortunately, the flames proved determined not to avoid them. Caleb flinched violently, his fear apparently spiking, and in response the fire curled down his arm like a serpent to lick and claw at Molly’s hand. It _hurt_ , but not much, not as much as it would have had they been anything but a tiefling. So they winced but didn’t pull away, instead pulling Caleb close and wrapping an arm around him with all the strength they had. They threaded the fingers of their other hand through Caleb’s burning one, a gesture of support and, helpfully, a way to keep it controlled and away from anything that might light up more easily than they did.

“You’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here,” they murmured, just as Yasha had murmured to them so many times. Pain didn’t matter. Pain never had, to Molly. Doing this, helping someone as they had been helped, suddenly mattered so much more. They slid their hand up his back to slowly stroke his hair.

Caleb went stiff as a board, almost seeming to stop breathing for a moment, and for a moment Molly was afraid that despite their good intentions they had _irrevocably_ fucked something up. But then they felt his arm slowly inch around them. They felt the pins and needles pain of the flame extinguish.

They heard Caleb whimper “ _mutter?”_ before he slumped heavily against them and started to sob. Molly didn’t know if he knew where he was or who they were yet, but he didn’t protest when they dragged him back into bed as carefully as they could. In fact, he was visibly reluctant to pull away from them at all, clinging fiercely. “Please stay, _please_ …”

Molly almost wished he would call them by the wrong name so they could know who to pretend to be to help soothe him. But he seemed to have hit a place beyond sight or memory or sense, once again seized by weariness and driven only by the need for comfort and closeness.

They could relate. This was all too familiar.

So Molly kept a hold of Caleb’s hand with their burned one while they set to work getting the sheets tugged down and got them both tucked in. They stretched out on their back, holding Caleb close against their side. They tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time they’d ever slept in a bed. Something so normal for most people felt piercingly, desperately significant now, even overwhelming.

They were both so clearly, deeply fucked up, but at least they had each other to hold on to for a night. That was selfish, perhaps, but if two people were being selfish in the same way towards the same end, maybe that all balanced it out.

As Molly grappled with these thoughts, they hadn’t noticed right away that Caleb’s grip had changed, that instead of clinging his fingers were running over and over the damaged skin of Molly’s hand, gauging, testing.

“…I hurt you,” he finally whispered, his soft voice nevertheless sounding loud and close in the otherwise quiet dark, thick with horror and shame. “Molly, I—”

“You didn’t,” Molly said, cutting him off gently but firmly. “It’s fine.” They were pretty sure it was fine, at least – they could wiggle their fingers and close their fist, their skin just felt scraped raw and stinging with pain. Just to make sure, they carefully pulled their hand away and lifted it to stare, turning it this way and that. The faint edges of moonlight streaming in under the curtains nevertheless let them see that, indeed, the damage was minimal. Their skin looked shiny and tight, but the heat hadn’t even gone deep enough to affect the head of the snake curling down their arm. They’d raid the shop’s supply of medicated ointments tomorrow, just to be sure.

“See?” they said, even though they knew he couldn’t. “I don’t singe easily.”

Caleb made a soft sound that could have meant anything. Molly felt his gaze as its own sort of heat on their hand, and then felt it trailing down their arm, tracing the coils of the snake.

After a breathless moment, Caleb lifted a hand to trace the colors with his fingers as well. His touch raised goosebumps, but Molly held still with an effort, afraid of ruining… _something_ if they moved too suddenly.

Only when Caleb pulled his hand away and tucked himself once more against Molly’s side did they risk whispering: “You can have this many tattoos yourself one day. If you want.”

“Perhaps. I think I would prefer to focus on just getting the two covered up.”

“’Course. I’ve got some designs drawn up. You can take a look tomorrow.”

“All right.”

It felt bone-deep thrilling and also something else that Molly didn’t know the name for to lay here with someone else, whispering in the dark. So as not to risk ruining it before they could put a name for it, they kissed Caleb’s forehead and smoothed back his sweat-slick hair. “But we should try to sleep for now.”

“Mm, _ja_.” And, in a way that made their heart skip several beats, he pressed his face against Molly’s chest and within moments, his breathing had gone slow and deep once more. Molly laid there listening to it, fancying they could even feel the beat of Caleb’s heart. Their own seemed to drum in time to the throbs of pain coming from their hand.

But pain didn’t much matter to Molly. It never had. Not as much as this.

*  * *

When Molly awoke the next morning, they couldn’t remember for a minute why they were asleep in Gustav’s bed. Really, the events of last night didn’t fully return to them until they stumbled out of the room to find a note waiting for them, pointing at a sandwich in the kitchen.

They were halfway through it before they thought to check the clock, and the next few minutes were a mad scramble to get dressed and dash down the stairs. They had never slept in this late on a Thursday in their entire short life.

Whatever horrors they’d been afraid were awaiting them downstairs, however, soon proved to be nonexistent. The shop had already been cleaned, their supplies set out and waiting for them just how they liked them organized. And Caleb Widogast was sitting behind the counter, talking to Jester and holding his own admirably considering how Jester could be.

She caught sight of them over Caleb’s shoulder before he did and waved at them. “Good morning, Molly!”

“Good morning, dear, and my _deepest_ apologies,” Molly said with all the sincerity they could muster, sliding behind the counter beside Caleb. Caleb took the hint and slid out, blushing to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“It’s fine. Your _friend_ helped me set up my papa’s appointment just fine.” She waggled her eyebrows and leaned on the counter, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “He’s nice, Molly! Did he keep you up _late_ last night?”

With that look on her face, you might never have thought that Jester didn’t damn well know Molly’s proclivity for sleeping with any person that looked interesting in any position that looked new. Shoving the wish that last night had contained some of the _other_ kind of sleeping together out of their head, Molly leaned close to reply with a well-practiced knowing look on their face. “You might say that.”

Jester broke into a fit of delighted giggling and, when Molly risked a glance over at Caleb, it was to see that he’d gone as red as his hair. They offered him a brief, apologetic smile – it had been the quickest way they could think of to get Jester off the scent of what had actually transpired last night, and they hoped he understood.

He seemed to, or at least the color in his cheeks abated into something a little less fiery, and he offered Molly a quick nod in turn.

Jester left not long after that, reminding them that her father would be by that Sunday to have some more work done. Already looking forward to treating themself on the Gentleman’s dime, Molly saw her off and turned to regard the shop with their hands on their hips. Caleb waited nearby, twisting his hands anxiously, clearly awaiting judgment.

“Tell me you didn’t actually tattoo anyone,” Molly said at last.

Caleb blanched and hastily shook his head. “ _Nein_ , no, of course not.”

“I mean, can you fault me for asking? You did just about everything else.” They walked close enough to clap him solidly on the shoulder. “And you did a damn fine job of it!”

They were gratified to see that Caleb had recovered enough of his strength not to stumble from the impact. He looked plainly relieved, instead, nodding at the shop in general. “I know you said you have things as you like them, but, er, after last night, I thought it was only fair to let you sleep. But this seemed like the sort of place where people shouldn’t be kept waiting. I thought I would at least keep an eye on things.”

“You got things pretty much how I like them, for what it’s worth.”

For just the barest hint of an instant, Caleb looked proud. “I have a good memory.”

“You could probably learn to give a halfway decent tattoo, y’know. Wizards are supposed to have steady hands, aren’t they? That’s the most important part.”

They half expected the suggestion to send him off into another panic again, but instead he looked deeply considering, suddenly intent. Rather than giving a yes or a no, however, he reached into the pocket of his tattered coat, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Molly.

“You said you had some designs finished. I took a look, while you were sleeping.”

Sure enough, when Molly unfolded the paper, they found one of their designs from last night waiting there. They dimly recalled that it was one of the last they’d done before sleep had claimed them. Maybe that was why it had turned out especially, ridiculously extravagant.

Molly squinted at it and did some hasty calculations. “This would take a few days,” they said at last. “Unless you fancy passing out.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Not saying I can’t do it, mind.”

“It would be expensive, too, I imagine.”

Molly lifted a hand to wave the idea away, only to feel a jolt go up their spine as Caleb reached out and caught their wrist. Startled, they lifted their gaze to meet his, and the _fire_ burning there in the blue damn near took their breath away.

“Mollymauk,” said Caleb, rightly taking advantage of striking Molly speechless. “This is important to me. You have been very kind, far more than I deserve. But this would be too much for me to bear. You might not want me to feel obligated, but I do. And if you want to spare me that, then help me find a way to pay you back.”

They saw a flash of the man he’d used to be, the man that, perhaps, was still buried under whatever trauma and horror had driven him to Molly’s bed. But at least the layers of drunk yuppie asshole had been stripped away, so Molly didn’t feel bad about capitulating just this once.

“All right,” they said, and grinned as a rush of _possibility_ stretched out before them. “I think we can figure something out.”


	3. Death of a Bachelor

So here was the thing about Caleb Widogast – the indelible, inescapable thing.

Molly had thought he was hot from the first moment they laid eyes on him, had known that here was a man who could potentially give them the best, most frustrating fuck of their life.

Over the next handful of weeks, they saw all the ways he was  _beautiful_  besides.

They introduced him to all their friends and all the people who were only sort of their friends, asking around to try and get Caleb a job. Caleb wound up with three or four, mostly doing books for various establishments and cleaning up their records, from Jester and her camming to Fjord and his bar. He even started accompanying Nott on deliveries, news which nearly gave Molly a heart attack when they learned about it after the fact.

“He’s my muscle now,” Nott declared proudly, jabbing a thumb back at him. Caleb summoned a curl of fire into his hand for emphasis and smiled faintly.

Nicodranus Row had always been an unconventional sort of place, with the businesses doing business amongst themselves for favors or barter or shelter as much as money. But Caleb brought home some pretty good money all the same. He insisted on giving all of it to Molly for rent and for paying down his tattoo. Molly managed to talk him down into only giving most of it, and counted themself lucky for it.

As the weeks went by, Caleb made himself, if not yet a home, then a place among Molly’s friends. They watched him standing on the sidewalk outside talking to Caduceus, no doubt giving him directions to the flower shop, and he was so, so beautiful.

He even got his ear pierced by Orna. Just a simple, silver stud but catching sight of it glinting dully in the light did upsetting things to Molly’s train of thought.

And then, as if Molly’s heart needed more strain, Caleb discovered a cat in the network of alleyways behind the shop and started feeding it. Molly had known it was there for a while, but it had never liked them or Gustav, hissing and snarling whenever they drew close even with food. Within a couple of days, they’d caught sight of Caleb more than once sitting out in front of the shop with the beast in his lap, purring away, like something out of Molly’s wildest, most beautiful dreams.

“He likes cats, Yasha,” they bemoaned, as they stood side by side with her doing dishes. “He’s  _really great_  with cats, even. How am I supposed to cope with that? What am I supposed to  _do_?”

“’Something’ would be a good start,” she answered in that utterly deadpan way she had, and she didn’t even give them the satisfaction of flinching when they splashed water at her in retaliation.

Within a few days after that, Caleb came to Molly with the cat bundled up in a towel and asked breathlessly if they could take him to the vet to get spayed. Of course Molly couldn’t deny him, so they borrowed Beau’s car to get that far. Within a few days after  _that_ , the little monster had a bed right next to the pullout couch and two bowls full of food and water in the kitchen.

Molly got no credit for this from the cat, of course, who slept every night on a pillow next to Caleb and regarded Molly with a benign disinterest if anything. But Caleb had actually pulled Molly into a sudden, fierce, delighted hug as they stood in line to pay for cat supplies, and that had kept Molly walking on air for days all on its own.

Gods, they were pathetic.

But of course, they didn’t let themself lose sight of the heart of the issue. Every couple of days, Caleb sat down in a chair down in the shop after they’d closed up for the evening, Molly laid out their inks and cracked open a new needle, and they worked to change the tattoos of two names into something Caleb could live with.

It was the most elaborate thing Molly had ever done – not big and gaudy and colorful like they usually made their own tattoos, but small and delicate and intricate. There was no way to cover up a name without turning it into an ugly blob of color or leaving the shape of the name beneath. So Molly tried to work with that. They turned each letter into its own piece of art – towers rising from the A and a tree sprouting up from the L, a tiny deer poking its head out from around the D and a cat nestled snugly in the U. Caleb had told him that it looked rather like the style of storybook his parents had read for him as a child. Molly had taken his word for it.

They could only do a couple of letters a night before their fingers ached and their eyes were strained. It was like nothing they had ever done before.

But they were increasingly proud of the results. They were especially proud of the look in Caleb’s eyes as they held the mirror up for him to inspect their work after each leg of the journey was done. They could see that he understood exactly what Molly was going for – make each letter enough of their own thing, a work of art in its own right, so that they stood apart and divorced from their meaning as a whole. So that it was a sequence of letters that just so happened to spell out “Astrid” and “Eodwulf”, but not names that could possibly represent people.

They could see that it was working for him. Caleb started sleeping better, once they’d gotten started, only one night terror in a week or so. Maybe the skin-deep pain helped ground him in reality. It had done as much for Molly. When nightmares and horror took hold of him anyway, Molly was there to hold him and gentle him back to reality and drag him into bed. When things were quiet, Caleb would curl up on one side of the pullout couch to read until he dozed off instead.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” Molly murmured one evening, as a movie droned along on the television that had half put them to sleep.

“About what?” Caleb asked, without looking up from his book.

“You could learn to give a great tattoo, if you wanted. If you wanted to stay and learn.”

Honestly, over the last few weeks, Molly had come to the conclusion that Caleb was capable of doing anything he wanted to. Even the Gentleman had pronounced him a “decent enough sort” and the Ruby had already insisted he come round for tea. Caduceus had stopped by  _specifically_  for the sake of dropping off some honey for Caleb rather than giving it to Molly while he was passing by.

The red haired mage really did have an allure to him, and what was worse was that he was clearly unaware of it, even if he had made liberal use of it once upon a time. Molly shuddered to think what a mess they’d be when he remembered himself.

But they were also looking forward to it in the same breath.

“Perhaps,” Caleb said at long last, and something in Molly’s traitorous heart skipped a beat because it wasn’t a no.

But they were too much of a coward to broach the subject further until the very last night. At two in the morning, Molly inked the last bit of green into the leaves of a flower twining up the stem of the last “d”. “And there we go,” they breathed, setting the needle aside and slumping back in their seat with a long, tired sigh to stare at the ceiling with worn, strained eyes. Caleb had had enough practice at this by now to be able to grab the mirror for himself, twist it this way and that to get a look at what had been done. This necessitated him keeping their back to them, but they heard the _sound_ he made, the quiet, joyous noise, and even in the midst of their exhaustion and fears for the future, Mollymauk Tealeaf smiled.

Things were quiet and comfortable between the two of them as they went to get the medicated ointment and the gauze to cover up tonight’s work and let it heal. Caleb opened his mouth as he saw them approach like he meant to stop them, like he couldn’t bear to see any more of the design covered up. But in the end, he stayed quiet, leaned his head against his folded arms, and let Molly finish up.

If this was the last night they could ever have Caleb’s skin beneath their fingers, at least they’d made the time count. But it was that thought that drove Molly on to want to steal a little more time, before whatever the future held for them could find them. “Let me take you out for a drink?” they said. “To celebrate.”

They were honestly a little surprised when Caleb answered, “ _Ja_. That sounds nice.” But they were about to complain, either. They just helped him get his coat on, solely because his shoulder was a little sore and sensitive at the moment, before donning their own for a quick walk in the rain.

At this time of night, even the Kracken’s Eye was quiet. The music was the sad and soulful sort that was perfect for making drunks get sentimental about life so that they drank more to forget as much. The crowds at the bar were thin enough that Fjord and Beau were chatting easily to one another, and Molly and Caleb didn’t have to wait very long to get their drinks served up to them at a table by the wall.

Somehow, for Molly at least, one drink turned into three. They knew they needed it, knew the deliberately light and easy conversation they tried to foster between Caleb and them was just to give them time to build up their courage to say what needed saying.

The fourth drink sat forgotten on the table, ice melting slowly to water down the moonshine, as they told him everything. Or at least, they told him everything they knew, which had never been much. They thought distantly that they should have cried, they’d never told this story to anyone and it seemed like the sort of story that should make you cry to tell it. But their eyes were dry and their voice sounded strange and faraway.

That seemed to worry Caleb just as much, in the end. Or at least, it seemed as if Molly blinked, and they were being pulled into his arms, their head guided to rest on his shoulder while the world spun around.

“I am going to call us a cab,” the wizard said.

They risked the tiniest nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

And yet they thought to themself, as they sat outside with Caleb waiting, letting the rain patter gently on their upturned face, that even telling Caleb the truth of their past had been just a way of deflecting away from what they really wanted to say about the future. They were proud of themself for staying silent on the matter long enough for the cab to get them back to the shop and drive off, for Caleb to once again have his back to Molly as he fumbled to get the key into the lock. It was easier, not having to look him in the eye, not when they were sure which of the possible reactions running through their head could possibly be the worst.

“Stay,” Molly said at last, and watched the way Caleb went rigid with shock, heard the chime of the key falling from his suddenly nerveless grasp to hit the front step. “With me. We can figure this out, all of this – you and me and, and life and _us_. We can take care of each other. I want you to stay with me, Caleb.”

They bit back the _please_ at the last minute – it shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did. Their voice had remained steady all throughout with a supreme effort of will. They had simply stated their desires and made a request. They would not plead, they would not beg, no matter how much they ached to. If Caleb chose to stay, Molly did not want it to be out of pity for his drunken, pathetic roommate. If Caleb chose to leave, Molly would smile and wish him well and mean it in all the ways that mattered.

The silence seemed to stretch on into a minor, hellish eternity as Caleb stood facing the door and probably seeing nothing. But at last, he turned to look back at Molly – his red hair plastered flat to his head by the rain, his blue eyes overbright, his cheeks flushed and all of him so, so beatiful. His expression was nothing Molly knew the name for but something that made their heart race all the same.

Slowly, Caleb turned to face them. He crossed two steps to stand properly before them once more and it might as well have been miles.

He raised a hand and Molly saw his fingers trembling despite the almost serene calm in his eyes and they were already tilting their head into it as his fingers stroked down their cheek to rest against their chin and gently, gently guide their mouth to meet his.

The world stopped spinning. The world seemed to stop entirely, but for the gentle fall of rain and the beating of their hearts and the sharing of their breath. Caleb’s mouth was soft and warm and the sweetest thing Molly had ever tasted. The kiss was the best thing they had ever known since Gustav first took them by the hand and led them inside.

There was no reason for them both to be breathing a little harder when they pulled away, but they both were. Molly once again saw a fire burning behind Caleb’s eyes, saw in him an echo of sure, stubborn strength tempered with the kindness and care he had tempered for himself out of the ruins of his old life.

For a long, long moment, they only stared at one another. To Moly’s faint shock, it was Caleb who smiled first, big and bright and giddy.

“I have wanted to do that for months,” he said, laughter in his voice, and so he did it again, and by the time they both stumbled inside, soaked and clinging to each other, a wordless promise had been made and Molly knew deep in their bones that neither of them would never have to know what it was to be alone ever again.

*  *  *

Caleb never remade his body as extravagantly as Molly had – a few more studs in his ears, including a chain to match one of those dangling from Molly’s horns, a green streak dyed through his hair in honor of Nott, just a few more tattoos including a cat with a book and a peacock’s feather.

He remade himself in the friends who would not abandon him as his lost loves had, in the cat who purred contentedly on his lap as he poured through whatever books he could find at half price shops and libraries and on the sides of the road.

He remade himself in the love Molly poured into him as freely as they had ever given anything, and every day he grew more and more beautiful to their eyes.

In turn, Mollymauk Tealeaf – Molly to their friends – gave themself more tattoos and more piercings and experimented with violently vibrant hair dyes of all shades. But they also leared how to remake themself every day in the joy of Yasha’s returning, of drinks with Fjord and fights with Beau and brunch with Jester.

They remade themself in the quiet, shy, boundless love that Caleb had to offer them, and never regretted a single day of it.


End file.
